


Remember Us

by ShelbyLehnsherr



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Spoilers, X-Men: First Class
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-21
Updated: 2011-07-21
Packaged: 2017-10-21 14:54:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/226434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShelbyLehnsherr/pseuds/ShelbyLehnsherr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starts off with how they met, drabbles describing the progression of their beautiful relationship, up until the tragic divorce at the beach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remember Us

"I'm afraid we'll have to -"

A great rush of pain hits him like a wave; his knees threaten to buckle right there on the stairs and he clutches at his stomach as though he's being ripped apart. The echo of his own startled cry reaches his ears a moment too late, a cry that he wasn't even aware of until now. Moira looks back at him, eyes wide and face gone suddenly pale, and though she swims before him for just a moment, the hand she places on his arm anchors him firmly in the present. There's someone out there, someone he hadn't sensed until now.

"Professor? Professor, are you all right?"

"There's someone out there...in the water!"

On shaky legs he runs back the way he came, bounding up the short flight of stairs until he's on the main deck. He looks around wildly, for the pain in his head is too intense to pinpoint to just one location, and it's only when he sees the massive chains rising from the inky ocean that he realizes just where this unknown person is.

"There!"

He pays no heed to Moira's cry of protest and though he feels her hands brush against the wool of his jacket, he's already throwing himself over the edge of the ship. The water is bitterly cold and he nearly sucks in a great gulp of it from the utter shock, but he manages to recover and actually move. Beneath him, he can see the lights of the submarine Shaw is no doubt commanding, and just above it, a man - another great burst of angerpainrevenge hits him and threatens to pull him under. He knows then that he has to stop him, has to somehow save a man he doesn't even know.

 _You can't._

The man struggles when he wraps arms around his chest in an attempt to pull him away.

 _You'll drown. You have to let go._

Memories rush through his mind as if a flood gate has been opened. A young, dark-haired boy, watching his mother drop lifelessly to the floor. A man in wire-rimmed spectacles grinning and speaking in German - Ich werde bis drei zahlen, Erik* - with a coin in his hand. Impossibly thin men and women walking in perfect rows to a low-ceilinged building where smoke billows out of a fat chimney. Years and years of running, empty hotel rooms and the bracing winter wind of the Alps. A flash of a knife in the sunlight, the screams of two men. It's all too much.

 _I know what this means to you, but you're going to die. Please! Erik, calm your mind._

The man named Erik struggles, tries to fight him and hang on. He can feel his strength waning, though, and after what seems like an agonizingly long moment, he drops his arms and watches with pained eyes as the submarine continues to cut through the water, completely unfazed.

They break the surface, shaking with cold and gasping for breath. For a moment, there's a desperate struggle - water splashes in his face as Erik pushes away from him, trying to put as much distance between them as possible.

"Who...who are you?"

"My name's Charles Xavier."

"You were in my head!" Shock, raw and real, is written all over his face. "How did you do that?"

"You have your tricks, I have mine. I'm like you. Just calm your mind!"

"I thought I was alone." The pain in his voice nearly breaks Charles' heart.

"You're not alone." He reaches out but his fingers only sweep through freezing water. "Erik, you're not alone."

\---

Only a couple days had passed, and Erik was already beginning to develop a sense of normalcy. He was surrounded by a small group of mutants, individuals that had the same mutated gene, as him. For many years, Erik believed that he was the only one of this particular distinction. There had been no study or research done proving the existence of mutants and he guessed that whoever challenged the idea of mutated human beings would be ridiculed for the sheer preposterousness of it.

Erik glanced up from the dinner table, eyes shifting to the right, where Raven sat, currently in the form she deemed beautiful. She was eating slowly, looking almost in a trance as she gazed fondly across from her at Hank. Whenever Hank would speak, she would nod and smile, even though Erik was sure Raven did not understand most of the scientific terms he was using.

He then turned his attention to Charles, who met his gaze for a moment, then looked back down at his plate, as if he were embarrassed that he was caught staring. Erik didn't mind, though. Lately, he found himself unable to tear his eyes off the telepath. He certainly wasn't bad to look at, but he knew he mustn't distract himself from his mission.

The food on his plate was suddenly engrossing - his pushed what was left of his vegetables around with his fork, trying to look anywhere but at Erik. He focused on the myriad of thoughts radiating from Raven across from him; the flicker of something like adolescent puppy love was much easier to cope with than the hints of desire pooling in the pit of his own stomach. It had only been a small number of days since their arrival at the CIA Headquarters, but in that short time, he'd found himself captivated by the man he'd leapt into the water to save. Erik was different than anyone he'd ever met; though he knew more about the man than the others, there was still a certain amount of mystery lingering around him.

"And then, with the advancement of genetic study -," Hank was still rambling, waving his fork in excited movements as he progressed. Raven nodded enthusiastically, that same fond smile on her face, and he would have grinned at the sight had he not been so focused on avoiding Erik's gaze.

But the temptation was too great, and Charles never claimed to be a particularly strong man. He looked up again, trying desperately to grasp onto some sense of casualty, and was thankful to find Erik's attention directed somewhere else. Charles allowed himself a moment to study the man across from him, let his gaze drift over prominent cheekbones and clear gray eyes, strong arms hidden beneath the soft cashmere of a turtleneck and large hands.

He doesn't realize he's staring again - it's impossibly rude, he hears his mother chide in the back of his mind - until someone clears their throat quietly, and he knows instantly that he's been caught. Sheepishly, he draws his gaze away from a spot on the right side of Erik's mouth that is somehow particularly interesting and looks him in the eyes, pinned to the spot by the intensity in that stare.

 _Something on my face?_ The voice in his head is far more amused than he's ever heard it, and he feels heat flood through him when Erik flashes a quick smile and, as if he hasn't endured enough humiliation for the evening, winks.

\---

Even now, Erik does not know what possessed him to stay.

He had one goal in mind, and that was to find Shaw. Charles hindered his progress when he'd 'rescued' him and he'd made the decision to not allow that to happen again. When he'd thought everyone had turned in for the night, he scoured every nook and cranny at CIA Headquarters until he found the information he needed. Without looking back, Erik had the documents stored securely in his briefcase…

…Until he discovered Charles was waiting for him outside. It was almost as if he knew he planned on leaving that night. Then he remembered the fact that Charles was a mind-reader, and suddenly the possibility didn't quite seem so ludicrous.

 _It's not just me you're walking away from._

Charles' words rang through his head the entire walk down the corridor. He did leave the facility the night before, thinking that his mind had been completely made up. But there was something keeping him from wanting to leave.

And he only realized just what it was when he'd made his way back into the office, seeing the telepath he'd come to call his friend sitting in one of the two chairs. "What if they don't want to be found by you?"

Charles woke that morning feeling much wearier than he thought; the conversation from the night before weighed heavily in his mind, and he was half-tempted to stay locked away in his room for most of the day. Though he'd hoped that Erik would choose to stay at the CIA Headquarters with the rest of the mutants, with him, there was a hint of worry in the back of his mind that caused him to think otherwise.

When the familiar voice reached his ears that morning in the doorway of the office, he was sure that his relief was palpable. For a moment, words failed him, overwhelmed as he was with the realization that the other man had allowed himself to delay his quest for revenge.

"Erik! You decided to stay."

One side of his mouth twitched upward in the hint of a smile and he huffed some semblance of a laugh before directing his attention back to the suit-clad agent behind the desk. "If a new species is being discovered, it should be by its own kind. Charles and I find the mutants. No suits."

"First of all, that's my machine out there. Second of all, much more importantly, this is Charles' decision. Charles is fine with the CIA being involved." The last bit was defensive, and he could feel the doubt curling at the edges of his words. "isn't that right?"

He was still caught somewhere between surprise and disbelief, suspended in emotional limbo. Meeting Erik's gaze, he felt his eyebrows draw together for the briefest of moments - are you really up to this, my friend? - and the resounding yes was the only answer he needed.

"No. I'm sorry, but I'm with Erik. We'll find them alone."

"What if I say no?"

Another quick glance to Erik, who tilted his head as if to say it was solely his decision now. Charles looked back at the agent and nodded absently toward the machine across the lawn. "Then good luck using your installation without me."

The laugh he hears in his head warms his heart, and Charles feels just a little bit of his earlier weariness ebb away.

\---

His head is buzzing and he isn't sure if it's from the amount of alcohol he's consumed in the past hour and a half or the way Erik's staring at him over the top of his glass. He'd like to believe that it's the former, but he knows it isn't - it's the eyes that have him transfixed and feeling more giddy than he has in recent memory. He grins a little too broadly, laughs a little too loudly, and keeps his hands busy fiddling with the condensation building on the sides of his glass, the dips in the grooves of the table. It's only been two days since Erik decided to stay at CIA Headquarters and they've skirted around the subject anytime they speak to one another, but there's still a question brewing in the back of his mind.

"What made you decide to stay?"

The words hang there for a long moment, and he wishes they were tangible objects so that he could snatch them back and tuck them away safely out of sight. He clears his throat awkwardly and tosses back the last gulp of his drink, dropping his gaze to his hands. It's impossibly foolish, asking a question like that, and he's sure that he'll drive Erik away and spoil their nice evening. A moment later, he risks a glance up and is surprised to find Erik looking at him quizzically, just the hint of a smile twitching at the corners of his lips.

"Why did I decide to stay?" Erik asks again, almost as if he were confused by the question, but a smile still remains on his handsome face. He looks away from Charles to gaze thoughtfully at the bar top, index finger drumming idly on his half empty beer bottle.

He can feel Charles' eyes locked on him as he mentally conjures a response. He knows now exactly why he decided to stay, but he partially fears answering. He is afraid Charles' might not be on the same wavelength of thinking as himself. "I decided to stay because…" Erik trails off a moment, turning his attention back to the telepath. "I find myself growing increasingly attracted to you."

The moment the words leave his lips, Charles' expression falls into disbelief. He almost feels responsible to repeat himself, because the look on Charles face makes him think that he did not understand him the first time.

"Oh, well, E-Erik, I…" Charles paused to release a breathy laugh, tugging a hand through his slightly tousled hair. He cannot find words, but the smile that remained on his face was reassuring enough. Erik quirked a brow, taking a long sip of his beer before setting it down and waiting patiently for the other man to reply , whether he form an adequate sentence or not.

\---

Somewhere along the road they blurred the edges of friendship and it's become something much more real. Even Charles himself can't precisely pinpoint it - there was only so much skirting they could do before the inevitable happened, and inevitable it was. The first kiss may have been awkward and over far too quickly, but the things that followed certainly weren't.

He's lying across Erik's chest, still caught in the afterglow of their latest endeavor, head pillowed right over his heart. He can hear the steady _thumpthumpthump_ of it, so soothing it could have very well lulled him to sleep had he been willing. Instead, his fingers trace absent patterns across damp skin - it's impossibly hot this time of year, much too hot to be tangled together in a mess of arms and legs, but neither of them pull away, not yet. Erik brushes a hand through his hair, rubbing soothing circles along his scalp as he wants to do whenever Charles complains of a headache or finds himself unable to sleep. He smiles a little lazily and he can practically feel Erik smile in return even though he can only see a small glimpse of his jaw.

The _thumpthumpthump_ of Erik's heart is still steady and whole and anchoring him here, in an off-the-beaten-path hotel that he never would have stepped inside otherwise. Charles smiles again and reaches out a hand, tangles his fingers in Erik's and squeezes gently.

 _I love you._

The words don't need to be said aloud - Charles finds himself speaking aloud less and less these days around Erik, and though it's different, it just feels right somehow - and he glances up again, twisting his face so that he can see more of the other man's face. A part of him is terrified, but an even larger part of him is thrilled; he can feel his breath catch in his throat as he waits, teetering on the edge of dread and elation.

The words should have rocked Erik to the very core, but for a reason still unknown to him, they did not. His heart rate increased slightly, and he was sure Charles could hear it. Seeing those bright blue eyes stare lovingly up into his own washed away any fears and doubts he normally would have had at such a revelation.

The hand that had been rubbing Charles' scalp dropped to his face, fingers slowly tracing his cheekbone. Erik's smile widened slightly, shifting so he could lean down and place a firm kiss on the others lips. I love you, too, Charles. He thought back, eyelids slowly fluttering shut as his arms encircled his new lover. The kiss grew more feverish, Charles crawling up to be level with Erik, arms loosely going to wrap around his neck.

 _I need you._

\---

Controlling a group of unruly teenagers was not easy by any means, but controlling a group of unruly teenagers who happened to be mutants was another battle all together. Personalities were bound to clash, feelings were bound to be hurt, and though they were all back to some semblance of camaraderie in what seemed like no time at all, any minor mishap did manage to take its toll. He was immensely grateful for Erik, who could quell any conflict into submission with a single look while he struggled to regain peace with diplomacy and plenty of talking, but even so, there were days where he couldn't cope with the utter chaos of it all.

Tucked away in the small library he'd overtaken during their time at CIA Headquarters, Charles allowed himself the silence he so desperately craved. The hum of thoughts was still there, omnipresent as always, but he did his very best to block most of it out - Angel and Alex were arguing over something that was probably impossibly trivial, and he could hear Raven's frantic attempts at keeping the peace. Hank skirted along at the sidelines, passive as ever, and Sean was uneasy, caught between taking a side and assisting Raven. He wished, for a moment, that he could make it all stop - it would be so easy to freeze them all, even for the shortest of times. Heaving a sigh, he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, willing the headache he could feel building in his temples away.

Vaguely, he heard the door open and close quietly and the familiar presence of Erik drift into his mind - so this is where you've been hiding - just a moment later. He didn't look up, not until he felt warm hands settle onto his shoulders and lips brush against the nape of his neck.

"I've been looking all over for you." Erik mumbled against his skin, kissing a slow path up Charles' neck as his hands began to massage away all the tension in his shoulders. His fingers gently kneaded the stiff muscles, thumbs moving in languid circles between the telepath's shoulder blades.

After several short moments, Erik straightened, hands still occupying Charles' shoulders. If the rigidness of his muscles didn't give it away that he was stressed, the look on his face certainly did. A deep furrow creased between his brows, jaw clenched, and the occasional heavy sigh. Erik leaned down again, taking advantage of the fact that Charles head was still tipped back against the backside of the couch, closing the gap between their lips.

Charles made a soft sound, almost immediately relaxing under Erik's hands. Erik allowed a small smile to tug at the corners of his own lips, then deepening the kiss as much as this position would permit. _Don't let them get to you, Charles._ Erik thought, letting his eyes fall shut as he dipped his tongue gently between Charles slightly parted lips. _Not that I mind helping you get rid of all this stress._

\---

He's still trembling with the remnants of Erik's memories - in the back of his mind, the voice of Erik's mother whispers through, faint as a wisp of smoke - and he slips his hands into the pockets of his slacks, rolls his shoulders slightly. The satellite sits unmoving what seems like oceans away from them; it's only a few miles, if that, but he knows just how heavily this is going to weigh on Erik. He settles his gaze on the other and allows just the tiniest flicker of reassurance to pass through his mind; when Erik glances over his shoulder, Charles smiles and inclines his head, waiting.

It takes a long moment - time stretches out almost infinitely, it seems - but slowly, the satellite turns. It's nearly breathtaking to watch; here was the man who'd gone from trying to raise a submarine from the sea to begging him to shoot him at point blank range because it was somehow safer to moving an entire satellite so that it came to rest facing them, as if it was always meant to be positioned that way. He feels a surge of something like pride and realizes, with a foolish jolt, that it isn't pride at all but some sort of clumsy admiration.

Erik's grin splits his face in two and it takes Charles a moment to realize he's half-laughing, half-sobbing, turning to face him like an exhilarated child wanting to show off. He claps a hand on his shoulder and squeezes, returning that grin with one of his own - he knew he could do it, had always known he could do it, and he can't help but push those thoughts toward Erik even though he's sure they're written all over his face.

Erik collapsed against the stone railing lining the courtyard, trying to catch his breath through his laughter. All this time he was convinced that anger was the only thing that could trigger his abilities, but now Charles helped him to realize that memories, the good ones, of his mother, did him so much better than the rage he had been consumed by for so long. Erik found serenity in the love he felt radiating off the mutant mere feet from him. Charles knew he could do it. Charles had faith in him, which was more than he could say for anyone else.

When he turned to face Charles, he found the telepath smiling at him. Once his laughter ceased considerably, he surged forward, taking the other mutants face in his large hands and kissed him deeply. Instantly, Charles returned it, knowing full well just how much this moment of success meant to him. He could almost feel the power coursing through Erik's veins. There was a whole new level of confidence there that never existed until now.

"Hey! The President's about to-,"

Moira's sentence was cut short as she poked her head out the living room window to see the two men feverishly kissing one another. She could find no words. All she could do was slowly pull her gaze away from them, and lean against the wall, shock evident on her face. The other mutants in the room looked at her quizzically, but she plastered on a fake smile for their sake. "They'll be right along soon."

\---

A great cloud of smoke billowed out of the pot on the stove as soon as he removed the lid; coughing, Charles slammed the thin piece of metal back down and backed away, looking for a window to open. It was just barely eight in the morning and as much as the children needed to wake up, he knew they wouldn't be very happy with him if it was too the sound of a blaring fire alarm.

Preparing his own food had never been a truly important aspect of his life; the Xavier mansion had always been occupied by a capable staff of maids and cooks throughout his childhood, and his meals at school were always waiting for him in the dining hall. Once he and Raven lived alone, the challenge of nutrition presented itself - he discovered in the very beginning that he did not possess a talent for the culinary arts and could burn toast on a good day. Raven was able to master a handful of simple meals, but more often than not, they found themselves enjoying the welcome comforts of take out.

Now that they were all back in his childhood home, the possibility was out of the question; their meals around the dining table at the mansion were wild enough, he couldn't stomach the idea of taking a rowdy group of children to town. The only suitable option was for Charles himself to try his hand in the kitchen again, starting with breakfast. It was the most important meal of the day, after all.

He felt rather than heard Erik join him in the kitchen and he felt his face burn in humiliation before he ever turned around. Looking anywhere but at the other man - who was surely trying to stifle a laugh, even if his face gave nothing away - Charles settled on lifting the lid again and peering down into what should have been oatmeal.

"Oh," he murmured unhappily, allowing himself a brief moment to sulk before he looked back up at Erik with a crooked smile. Best to admit it now rather than have Erik drag it out of him. "This is a bit more difficult than they ever made it look when I was a child, I can assure you. I don't think I've got it quite right."

Erik took a step forward, peering over Charles shoulder and into the pot. He quirked a brow, trying to plaster on a mask of passivity for the sake of not wounding Charles pride. Truth be told, it smelt about as unappetizing as it looked. It certainly could not be called oatmeal. It was runny, browner than the oats should have been, and the brown sugar burning indicated an overload of said ingredient.

He shrugged slightly, trying to find the nicest words possible to lighten the blow of the failure that was this morning's breakfast. Obviously, too much brown sugar was added, right along with milk, and it was still runny even though it had been cooked far too long. "Oatmeal can be tricky." Erik replied lamely, managing a soft laugh.

He wrapped his arms around Charles, chest pressed firmly to the others back. "Let me teach you?" Erik kissed just behind Charles' ear, smiling against his skin. "You've taught me plenty. I feel it is only fair that I return the favor."

\---

 _"Erik! Take my hand!"_

Erik found himself unable to move as Riptide unleashed his attack, numerous tornados heading straight for the X-Jet. He clenched his jaw, Charles' voice ringing faintly in the back of his head. He could barely hear anything over the roar of the engine, but once he began to lose his grip, his hand instinctively reached out and grabbed the telepaths hand. Despite all of the trust that he had for Charles, he doubted their survival for a split second. The rush of the wind was intense enough to pull them both right out of the plane.

Erik groaned as he felt the tendons in his arm nearly rip as Charles hauled him up into the X-Jet. It all happened in slow motion. The submarine below them toppled over on its side moments after Erik released his hold on it, washing loudly up onto the beach. Charles was pulling him into his arms. The other mutant's screams echoed in his ears.

 _Erik! Erik! Erik!_

At this point, the metal-bender did not know if he was hearing Charles in the physical world, or in his head. Amongst all the commotion, that was all he focused on. He cried out, calling for Charles several times before reality hit him once more.

The X-Jet was about to turn. He could feel it. Something wasn't right. Hank wasn't able to control it anymore. Charles screwed his eyes shut, hands whipping out and grabbing for anything nearby that could prove to give some support. Erik's protective instincts kicked in instantly, and he leapt over to Charles, plastering himself atop the other man. His hands and feet acted as a magnet against the metal of the plane, holding Charles firmly in place as the X-Jet violently twisted, jerked, and turned.

Panic rushed straight from Charles mind to his own, and he held on tighter, refusing to release him until he knew that nothing bad could happen to him. He couldn't bear that.

Once the movements stilled, they were on the ceiling. Charles chest was heaving. The other teammates were still screaming in shock of what had just happened. Erik swallowed heavily as he lowered him and Charles to the ground, a loud grunt escaping their lips.

Instantly, Erik sat up, wrapping his arms around the man.

For a second, Erik thought that they had just barely dodged yet another bullet.

\---

He can't feel him. He can't feel him, and it's absolutely, dizzily terrifying - the other man's mind has somehow become nearly as familiar as his own, and the silence that settles in its place slices through him like a knife. He can't feel Erik, but he does feel bile rise in his throat, hot and acrid, as he grips the metal framework of the jet, index and middle finger still pressed against his temple in a desperate attempt to reach him. His mind screams in protest as he searches, searches, searches, but he's simply gone. Though he's prepared himself for this, told himself over and over again that it would be unsettling to say the very least, he still can't help but feel as though he's lost Erik for good somehow.

Moments pass in excruciating slowness, and still he keeps reaching, reaching - he has to find him, has to touch his mind, hear his voice, know he's all right but he can't and he could scream from the frustration of it all - until something breaks and the first prickle of thoughts drifts into his mind. Erik is there with Shaw; Shaw's doing something, doing something terrible because he can feel pain stab through him and hear the echo of Erik's gruff cry as he slams against the wall. It's working, though; suddenly the cocoon the other two men were wrapped in shatters and he's there, pouring himself back into Erik's mind as though he's afraid he'll lose his chance to.

Fingers press against his temple again and he screws his eyes shut in concentration; Moira teeters on the edge of his consciousness, voice as high and frantic as a bird's - what'shedoingwhat'sgoingonwhatwhatwhat - and he does his best to block her out and focus solely on Erik. He can't lose him, not now. He's got Shaw frozen, but he can feel the bloodlust rising in the back of Erik's mind as he circles the man who is singlehandedly responsible for all of the agony he's ever experienced.

 _Nonononono -_

He's screaming in his mind, he's sure of it, screaming at Erik to stop and think and refuse to act so foolishly. There's a brief flash of I'm so sorry, Charles but then it's gone like smoke and he is completely unable to stop the other from settling the helmet onto his own head; he can't release Shaw, because if he does, then they really are lost. He hears Erik as though they're standing on opposite ends of the tunnel.

"This is what we're going to do..."

 _Nonono Erik please nonono -_

"I'm going to count to three." The thin piece of metal catches the light and winks in Erik's fingers. "And I'm going to move the coin."

 _Nonono please Erik nonono -_

"One."

 _Please Erik!_

"Two."

 _Nonono anything but this, anything -_

"Three."

 _Erik please -_

The pain of the coin slicing through his head and Shaw's is nothing compared to the pain in his heart.

\---

He's suffocating. He can't breathe; the humid air is suddenly far too heavy, pressing down on him even as he lies uselessly in the sand. Pain rips through him and he shudders with the force of it, gasping for breath and clutching desperately at anything he can find - the sand, the buckles of his suddenly ridiculous flight suit, Erik's hands.

 _Erik._

The face above his is honestly terrified - the horror and guilt and tears still don't look right on that face, even now - but he's still wearing the helmet, still blocking him out. Charles could scream with the sheer unfairness of it all; he's loved and poured his heart out to the other man, given him everything but a reason to lock him out of his mind now, and still he keeps it on. Charles gasps again, biting back a strangled sob that tangles in his chest and throat. His vision swims and black dots burst behind his eyes; he can feel himself slipping, threatening to be pulled under by the pain and agony.

"I tried to warn you, Charles." There's a broken edge to Erik's voice as he speaks. "I...I want you by my side."

He doesn't understand; that's the only place Charles has ever wanted to be, the only place he feels comfortable, but not now. Not with the helmet separating them and the memories rolling through his mind like a broken record, burrowing deeper and deeper.

"We want the same thing."

We did, I thought we did. Erik can't hear him and he feels another sob build in his chest but he can't cry, won't cry in front of him. He clutches at the other man's hand, draws in a shuddering breath and shakes his head.

"My friend," _Myfriendmylovermyeverything._ "I'm sorry, but we do not."

And he is sure that his heart shatters then, realizes it as soon as Erik pales and simply stares at him. He can't lose him, but he will - Charles finally allows the sob he's been withholding to escape him and he wants nothing more than to snatch the words back. They may not want the same thing, but that doesn't make him want Erik any less; he needs him so much it hurts, and he cannot wrap his mind around the idea of a life without the other man. But as Erik slides away and allows Moira to take his place in the sand, Charles is sure that he will never be whole again, for just as the helmet creates a void in his mind where Erik used to be, his words have surely created a much larger void in his heart.

 **-End-**

**Author's Note:**

> We do not speak German, obviously. xD We used an online translator.


End file.
